


Unworthy

by LilyOrchard, MikailaT



Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [18]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gossip, Healthy Relationships, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Sylvanas gets emotional support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOrchard/pseuds/LilyOrchard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: For all her outward appearances and public face of arrogance and flippancy, Sylvanas was always painfully aware of what she lost in undeath.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Character(s)
Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939501
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	1. A Lifeless Husk of a Woman Like Me

**Year 33 - After the Gathering**

“Darkflare has sent word from Orgrimmar,” Nathanos informed as he entered the throne room. “Saurfang seems to have accepted your position as warchief, but there are still many orcs who are unhappy about it. She is working to quell this anger before it turns into a full-blown insurrection.”

A wry, humorless chuckle escaped the Banshee Queen’s dark lips, her clawed gauntlets drumming against the stone arm of her Undercity throne. While she applauded Saurfang for his restraint to wait until after the Legion’s defeat to voice such complaints, they were nonetheless inconvenient. Those insufferable orcs and their systemic bias. It is as though they had completely forgotten about Hellscream’s orc supremacy campaign only a few years ago, and were back to thinking that they were the center of the Horde again. It was tempting to just disregard their complaints as mere jealousy and nothing more. Still, she knew better than to think a restless populace in the Horde capital was of no concern.

“What precisely is it the root of their complaints, do you think?” she asked Nathanos. “That I am not an orc? That I am not living? Or that I am a woman? With the populace of Orgrimmar, it could go any which way.”

“I believe it is all three, my Queen. There are a _lot_ of people in Orgrimmar with a lot of different opinions,” Nathanos shrugged. “There have been rumors floating about that Darkflare’s popularity is the only thing cementing your rule.”

Her jaw clenched tightly at that. The worst part of such a rumor was that she couldn’t quite refute it. 

Anevay. Her Champion. Her dearest friend. Her Wife. The one trusty pillar that kept the precarious foundation of her existence from crumbling into dust. The woman who always seemed too perfect to be true in Sylvanas’ eyes. She already worked so hard, not only for her, but for the entire Horde and it’s far less grateful leadership. And now here she was attempting to smooth over civil unrest that arose simply because Sylvanas was Warchief. A mantle that, like many things, Sylvanas did not ask for. These buffoons were ready to tear this Horde apart over a decision that was thrusted upon her by some dying troll who was likely delirious from Fel poisoning. 

And Anevay was burning her credibility keeping it intact. 

“Has there been any progress?” Sylvanas asked, her voice noticeably quiet.

“According to Darkflare, quite a bit,” Nathanos nodded. “Her presence in Orgrimmar has seemed to quell much of the anger. Darkflare’s issues with the rest of the Horde are well known, so her speaking positively about a leader of the Horde does not go unnoticed. She has been mostly helping the civilians with their errands in between diplomatic duties.”

 _‘Of course she has,_ ’ Sylvanas thought to herself. 

There was no other way around it. Anevay was, by all accounts, perfect. She was powerful, wise beyond her years, as skilled with the quill as she was with the sword, and she was impossibly gorgeous. She challenged authority figures who disrespected her constantly, but was nonetheless an absolute sweetheart to those who respected, which tended to be the denizens and working class of the Horde. She was a living soul, but could get tasks done like clockwork as though she were a sleepless Forsaken, not that Sylvanas encouraged such behavior. Worst of all, Anevay was modest. Despite having fallen gods and monsters of all kinds, she seldom ever let those achievements go to her head. She never saw herself above just helping an elderly woman with her shopping or entertaining some children at the orphanage for a time. Underneath the strength and suffering, the High Overlord was a gentle soul. 

Anevay was perfect, and Sylvanas... was distinctly not. 

The Banshee Queen looked down at her clawed gauntlet. A gauntlet that masked the cold, dead tissue of her hand. The hand of a corpse. 

“-ark Lady?” 

Sylvanas blinked, Nathanos’ words pulling her from her introspection. How long had she been quiet for? She shook off the brief flush of embarrassment and cleared her throat unnecessarily. “...Pardon me. What was that, Nathanos?”

Nathanos’ brow furrowed as he took notice of the almost… distracted look in Sylvanas’ eye. “I was saying… that according to Darkflare’s report, much of the Horde remains unaware that the two of you are married.”

Sylvanas arched a brow. That was certainly a surprise. She had thought that the people of Orgrimmar at least would have suspected such a thing after the way Anevay kissed her in front of everyone at Vol’jin’s funeral. 

_‘Then again,’_ she thought. _‘Why would they suspect it? Why would they think the immaculate Champion of the Horde would lower herself to marrying a lifeless husk of a woman like me?’_

“Am I to understand that you would suggest keeping it that way?” Sylvanas inquired after pushing aside such thoughts.

“I was merely informing you of the situation,” Nathanos explained. “Darkflare herself sees no reason to keep such a secret. She discovered this when someone asked her about her ring.”

“I see.”

A moment later and Sylvanas rose from her throne. The somber introspection was cast aside for a disposition of aloofness and poise. “Well in any case, I suppose I am due to Orgrimmar to see the state of this unrest for myself. The people need their Warchief, do they not?”

“I fully agree,” Nathanos nodded. “While I believe Darkflare can handle the people, it would not do well to rely on her in such a way.”

“No it would not,” Sylvanas agreed, making her way down the dias to her throne and towards the door. In truth, she never enjoyed going to Orgrimmar. The dry, oppressive heat, the rambunctious populace, the looks she would receive from everyone. It was not preferable to her Undercity. 

But Anevay was there, and despite the guise of professionalism she was operating under, that was her drive. She missed her wife.

* * *

Anevay set the last of the crates down and smiled at the elderly Matron Battlewail. “That’s the last of them. These kids go through a lot of bread, Orphan Matron. They keep this up they’re going to be spherical and we can fire them out of cannons.”

“Do not say such a thing to Zu’gran,” Battlewail tutted gently. “That boy has an unusual fascination with siege weaponry.” 

“Oh? Maybe I should get him some model Ballista and Blight Throwers then?” Anevay chuckled. “Let him build working models and fling cups of slime at the squirrels.”

The matron giggled at that. “By the spirits, Darkflare. You seek to spoil these children don’t you?” 

“Call it overcompensating,” Anevay giggled as she watched them run around the orphanage yard. “Can’t really have one of my own, can I?”

“I mean…” Battlewail looked towards the other room where the children were playing. “There are plenty for you to adopt if you want to.”

Anevay shook her head. “My wife would never go for it, I’m afraid.”

Battlewail’s face fell slightly. “Oh dear. My apologies,” she said, her eyes falling to the ring on Anevay’s finger. “I hadn’t realized you were in fact married. Was it recent?”

“Yes. Just after the campaign in Argus. I’ve only been married for three months,” Anevay explained.

“Oh, well congratulations!” Battlewail said, a toothy smile returning to her face. “Who is the lucky spouse?” 

“Warchief Sylvanas,” Anevay said with a warm smile right back.

The smile dropped from Battlewail’s lips. “...Really?” 

Anevay nodded. “You must have been there at the start of the invasion when I kissed her in front of everyone?”

“Well… yes, but I didn’t think you would actually marry her,” the matron said. “That just seems… odd, to say the least.” 

Anevay sighed and shook her head. “You’re the fifth person to say that.”

“Well I certainly don’t doubt that,” Battlewail shrugged. 

Anevay’s expression shifted to one of dejection, causing a sliver of guilt to wedge in the old orcs’ chest. 

“High Overlord. It’s not necessarily that I disapprove,” she insisted. “I just think that someone like you deserves someone… more suitable as your spouse.” 

“More suitable? What’s more suitable than my oldest and closest friend?” Anevay arched a brow at her.

Battlewail’s lips pressed into a thin line, taking a moment to consider her next words more carefully. “Someone… warmer, perhaps?” Almost immediately, she winced. “Emotionally! Emotionally warmer, I mean!”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you, to assume that Sylvanas isn’t warm with me,” Anevay pursed her lips. “Orphan Matron, she’s my wife. I think it’s safe to say I know her better than you do.”

Battlewail opened her mouth. Then closed it. “...Fair enough,” she conceded, taking a single step back. “In that case, then I wish the very best for the both of you then. I trust your judgement, High Overlord.” 

Anevay smiled slightly and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, before briskly walking out of the orphanage. Despite the… half apology, Anevay’s mood had been soured. Anyone who took notice reacted with surprise or disgust at the notion of her being married to the Warchief. She didn’t take it personally, it was just… a hassle. It threatened to tire her own more than walking around Orgrimmar all day ever could.

“I’m starting to see why Gnala and Lucy decided to keep to themselves for a while,” Anevay chuckled. “Oh what I wouldn’t give to just stay in bed with Sylvanas all day…”

“I warned you about mumbling to yourself, Darkflare,” came the unmistakable voice of Nathanos right behind her. “It gives away your position.” 

Anevay jumped and whirled around. “Anar’alah! We’re in friendly territory, Nathanos!”

“It doesn’t mean that you should not always tread lightly,” the Ranger Lord tutted. “Self preservation is always a virtue.” 

“You’re way too paranoid,” Anevay huffed, turning back and continuing down the drag. “I’m not going to be killed just because I relaxed for a bit. If I spent my whole life checking over my shoulder, I’d be miserable.”

Nathanos sniffed haughtily at that. “Well, that reminds me. Your dear wife is currently in Grommash Hold. You may wish to see her once you are done being the town darling for the day.” 

Anevay’s ears perked up and she glanced back with a bright smile. “Thanks!” she said, before taking off into a run toward the Valley of Strength. She ignored the greetings of the few guards and sped right past and into the Hold, where Sylvanas was conversing with a few Dark Rangers. “Dalah’surfal!” she exclaimed, running right up and wrapping her in a bear hug, practically lifting her off the ground.

Sylvanas barely got two words out before Anevay hoisted her off her feet. She and her Dark Rangers shared a look of wide eyed bewilderment for a moment before Sylvanas inevitably melted into the embrace. In the warmth of Anevay’s arms, it was easy for her to forget all the troubles in the world. Even those in her own mind. 

“I see that someone missed me,” Sylvanass huffed with amusement, securing her arms around Anevay’s shoulders.

“Two weeks in this scorching desert? You’re damn right I missed you,” Anevay chuckled as she set Sylvanas back down. 

Sylvanas smiled at that, pulling from Anevay’s embrace just enough to see her face. 

She was slightly tanner than usual, no doubt a result of spending so much time in Durotar. Still, Sylvanas could see those adorable freckles still painting her face like a constellation in the night sky. Her eyes still burned that enthralling Fel green. Her lips were curled into a warm smile that Sylvanas always loved to see. 

“I missed you too,” she admitted openly. “The Undercity feels too empty without you in it.” 

“Aww,” Anevay cooed. “That’s so sweet.”

“Could you two be any more saccharine?” Kalira snickered.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at the Dark Ranger. “I would not speak such slander so freely if I were you. The Banshee Queen is never ‘saccharine,’” she said, not once letting go of Anevay. 

“Forgive me, my Queen,” Kalira said with a very slight roll of her eyes.

“So what brings you all the way out to this dust trap?” Anevay cooed, kissing her wife’s cheek.

“Nathanos informed me of the civil unrest you have been contesting single handedly,” Sylvanas explained, smiling at Anevay. “I figured it was only fair that I arrive to help lighten the load. The Horde Warchief should reside in the Horde capital, should she not?”

“I suppose,” Anevay smiled. “Well I’m certainly grateful for your company. It gets exhausting out here.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Sylvanas crooned, bringing a hand up to stroke Anevay’s cheek. Even through her glove she could feel the warmth radiating from her wife. That was good, as she was in no rush to remove her gauntlet. She didn’t need a visual reminder of her undeath right then. “Do not worry. Now that I am here, you can find some time to rest.” 

“Well if I’m allowed to choose where, I’d like to rest right here,” Anevay accentuated her point by nuzzling under her chin and squeezing her tightly.

Sylvanas couldn’t help but chuckle at the bout of affection. Something she was sorely missing for quite some time. “You are incorrigible, Dalah’surfal,” she purred. 

“And you are comfy, my Queen,” Anevay giggled, her fingers absently toying with the ends of the belts that kept Sylvanas’ plackart fastened.

Before she could comment on Anevay’s rather handsy ministrations, Sylvanas ear flicked at the sound of heavy footfalls that were drawing closer to the Throne Room. Turning her gaze up, she saw Eitrigg enter the room, a great many scrolls under his arm. 

“High Overlord, I have collected the reports you requested,” he said, before looking up and seeing the person he was addressing in the arms of Sylvanas Windrunner. “...Ah. Warchief,” he greeted, a barely contained air of disgust in his voice. “We didn’t realize you would be here.” 

Sylvanas narrowed her crimson eyes at the old orc, matching his cold gaze with one in kind. “You didn’t? How disappointing,” she tutted with a shake of her head.

“As you can see Eitrigg, I’m a little busy right now,” Anevay said, not even opening her eyes. “If you could just leave them on that table there, I’ll read them later.”

Eitrigg arched a brow at the High Overlord, surprise showing on his aged face before silently nodding in concession. “As you command, High Overlord,” he said, walking over to the war table in the center of the Throne Room and placing the scrolls down. “Was there anything else?” 

“Yeah. Lose the attitude around the Warchief,” Anevay remarked.

Eitrigg winced slightly before nodding again. “Of course,” he said, turning to make it ways out the door as heavy footed as he came. 

Sylvanas frowned deeply at the departing orc, his disapproving gaze towards her souring her mood more than she wanted to admit. “Quite the charmer, he is,” she huffed. 

“Yeah, I’m getting tired of it,” Anevay sighed, pulling away from Sylvanas and smiling up at her. “This entire civil unrest has been completely ridiculous.”

“They still do not approve of me,” Sylvanas noted, a slight chill to her voice despite still being in Anevay’s arms. 

“Unfortunately,” Anevay sighed. “The orcs have been in a snit for the last year. And most of them are so isolated from the rest of the Horde that they don’t even know we’re married. But that’s the Horde at large, sadly.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes, feeling a new well of frustration bubbling in her chest. She remained quiet long enough that Anevay was beginning to grow concerned before she spoke again. “How do you recommend we proceed, then?” she asked. “What will be required for the orcs to accept my rule?”

“Well, personally I’m of the opinion that we don’t need to make them accept it,” Anevay shrugged. “The orcs are conditioned in such a way that a few good beatings will keep them quiet. They love that shit, you know? But other than that… I think the only thing that would do it is wait for someone to challenge you and kill them in a duel.”

Sylvanas sighed, her ears folding against her head. “Lovely. Waiting for would be usurpers to show themself,” she grimaced. 

“We can perhaps try and root out any potential traitors, Dark Lady,” Anya proposed. “Quell their threat before they have a chance to challenge you.” 

“The problem is that it could be anybody. Most of the orcs are grumbling about it, and any random orc looking for glory could be the one to make the challenge,” Anevay explained. “This isn’t like treachery, people are just unhappy. Stupid, but unhappy.”

The sourness renewed itself as Sylvanas slipped away from Anevay’s embrace and made her way to the War Table, looking at the scrolls Eitrigg placed down. “Well I suppose I best be getting to work then,” she said. “Do any of these reports require my attention?”

“They’re mostly domestic issues and peon schedules,” Anevay explained, picking up one of the scrolls. “You can handle them if you’d like, but it’s not critical.”

Sylvanas hummed pensively, eyeing the scrolls for a moment longer before taking one up in her clawed grasp. “Perhaps I should follow your example and show some care for the working class,” she said with a wry smirk. “I’ll tend to these reports. Why don’t you catch up on some rest? I can see the dark circles beneath your eyes, Dalah’surfal.”

Anevay reached up to touch the base of her eye and laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry. Long days. Uh, the peons are actually the easiest people to win over. Feed them well and don’t overwork them and they’ll love you.”

The smirk widened slightly. “How fortunate,” she mused before leaning forward and kissing Anevay briefly on the lips. Kissing her with her cold, dead lips. That reality nearly made her wince back and apologize for such a forward action. “Go get some rest, Anevay. These reports shouldn’t take me too long.” 

“Alright. I’ll be in the barracks just north of the market,” Anevay smiled as she cupped Sylvanas’ cheek. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Sylvanas said, the words flowing freely from her lips thanks to the warm encouragement of Anevay’s caress. She nearly leaned in for another kiss, but hesitated. It wouldn’t do to be too greedy just yet. Not while there was still work to be done and her wife already exhausted. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Cya,” Anevay grinned as she slowly made her way out of the Hold. She stepped out into the bright, harsh sunlight of Orgrimmar and immediately groaned. The hot sun was horrible on a normal day, but now that she was completely exhausted it was even worse.

She immediately made a beeline for the barracks, ignoring the whispers that suddenly started following her. As she entered the barracks, she took notice of two orcs and a troll speaking with Eitrigg.

“Whatever you’re betting on, I want in,” she chuckled as she sat down on a hammock.

The warriors turned to see Anevay having entered the Barracks rather unceremoniously. Not that that was necessarily a rare occurrence. Despite being the High Overlord, Anevay had no qualms with just being amongst them as though she were still a common grunt. “Oh… I don’t think you’ll be wanting in on this particular one, High Overlord,” the troll said.

“Why’s that, Je’tik? What are you betting on?” Anevay asked as she started unfastening her armor.

The warriors exchanged uncertain looks, as though answering that question honestly might not have been the best idea. Still, trying to lie to Anevay of all people was something they knew wasn’t the best idea. 

“Well… you, more or less,” Je’tik answered somewhat sheepishly.

“Me?” Anevay asked as she dropped her pauldrons to the floor and slid them under the hammock. “What about me? Eitrigg, what’s going on?”

Eitrigg looked away nervously. “It… is of no significance, High Overlord,” he insisted. “Just grunts being gossips. Nothing more.” 

“To be fair commander, you were the one gossiping to us,” one grunt said with a shrug.

“Eitrigg! What are you betting on?” Anevay demanded. “Answer me now! That’s an order!”

The old orc winced before letting out a defeated sigh. “...We’ve been betting how long your marriage will last,” he admitted, an air of shame in his voice.

Anevay arched a brow, looking confused. As she dropped her chestplate and gauntlets, she leaned down to unbuckle her legplates. “How long it’ll last? It’s not going to end, so it’ll last forever.”

“Well Dron’go here bet that it would last perhaps another two months before you throw up in bed one too many times and call it quits,” Je’tik interjected, cackling as the named grunt took a swat at him. 

“Fucking snitch!” Dron’go cursed. 

Anevay rolled her eyes. “For your information, I _don’t_ throw up in bed. Ever.”

“Even though your wife… rots?” the other grunt, Garnick, asked. 

“I know this is a surprise to you, Garnick, but the non-orc races of the Horde do this wonderful thing called bathing,” Anevay sneered. “If we didn’t, I’d smell more like sulphur than I usually do.”

“We mean no offense, High Overlord,” Eittrig insisted. “It’s just that… the Warchief is a corpse at the end of the day. We simply don’t understand how you can find happiness with a mate like that.”

“She is also my friend, and has been for most of my life,” Anevay’s brow furrowed. “Her rot doesn’t bother me, just as my sweating doesn’t bother her. It’s a neutral fact of our lives.”

“Yeah, but sweat doesn’t attract flies,” Dron’go said. 

“Yes it does, you fucking mook!” Je’tik huffed. “How do you not know that?”

“Look, you can speculate and reason all you want, but at the end of the day I don’t care,” Anevay said firmly.

“So what, are you a necrophile?” Dron’go asked.

Anevay bristled as she kicked off her boots. “If you want to believe that, go right ahead,” she said.

“Well, I guess that means I win,” Je’tik shrugged, a satisfied grin on his face as he held out an open hand. “Alright, everyone! Pay up!”

“You don’t win!” Dron’go huffed. “She didn’t even answer the question!”

“Yeah, but she didn’t deny it, so there you go!” Je’tik smirked. “Don’t be a sore loser, man.” 

“I say we at least wait a few months,” Garnick interjected. 

“Oh, of course, you’d say that!”

Anevay scoffed and laid down on the hammock. “Eitrigg, report to Nathanos for gossiping about the Warchief,” she huffed.

Eitrigg opened his mouth to object, but then thought better of it. “...Yes, High Overlord,” he said all but somberly walking out of the Barracks. 

The younger grunts watched him go, not making a single peep as they left. The situation took something of a turn. It was one thing when they were just having banter with Anevay. She seldom acted as more than just one of the grunts. It was another thing entirely when she decided to get Blightcaller involved. 

“Um… High Overlord?” Don’go prompted, looking nervously at Anevay as she laid in her hammock. “We… didn’t mean anything by it, you know?”

“I’m not going to reprimand you,” Anevay said without opening her eyes. “Eitrigg was the superior officer, he shouldn’t have condoned this behavior. But keep your comments about my wife to yourself from this point onward.”

“You got it boss,” Je’tik said with a dutiful salute before making his way to the entranceway, urging his fellow soldiers to follow suit. “We’ll just, uh… make our rounds now!”

“You do that.”

* * *

Sylvanas stepped out into the harsh sun, feeling the uncomfortable urge to return to Lordaeron. Ever since she’d gotten here, the air in the city had changed. People were glancing nervously at her, and others here watching her judgmentally. While she tried never to show it, she hated the scornful glares of the public.

As she passed, she could hear the whispers. Orcs talking about how they wanted Saurfang or Eitrigg for Warchief, and Tauren lamenting the fact that someone so ‘dishonorable’ was on the throne.

“I heard the High Overlord is plotting a coup,” she heard one woman say to her friend.

Sylvanas’ ear swiveled at that, those words nearly bringing her to a complete stop as she heard it. Did she truly just hear what she thought she heard? 

“Really?” the other woman exclaimed in a hushed gasp. “You think it’s true?”

“It’s gotta be!” the first woman said.

“You’re out of your mind, Gar’an,” a third woman said, punching her in the shoulder. “The High Overlord is married to her.”

“Yeah! That’s just to get close to her so that she could betray her more easily!” Gar’an exclaimed. “It’s one of those underhanded tactics the elves love!”

Sylvanas bristled at that. She had half a mind to walk over there and tear that orc’s jaw off. Better she couldn’t speak than to allow her to keep running her idiotic mouth. That simply could not have been true. Just more gossip someone concocted out of sheer boredom. Anevay would never attempt something like that. 

Right?

“What are you three talking about?” the shopkeeper, a Sin’dorei, asked as she handed one of the Orcs a drink. 

“The High Overlord’s coup,” Gar’an explained. 

“Coup? Darkflare?” the elven woman scoffed. “You’re crazy. Darkflare’s worshipped the ground Windrunner walks on since she was a kid.”

“Really?” one of the women asked. “You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely. It was a big scandal when everyone found out that she’d ran from Quel’thalas and went to Lordaeron, but everyone immediately knew why,” the shopkeeper said. “Darkflare and Windrunner were like… really close before Arthas. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she joined the Forsaken.”

“Well, yeah, but if that was really the case, why didn’t she just become one of the Forsaken?” Gar’an asked, more curious than accusatory. “Like, she could have done that, right?” 

The shopkeeper only shrugged. “I dunno. I just know history, I don’t know what’s going on in her head right now. Maybe the Forsaken prefer her alive.”

“...That’s kind of weird,” Gar’an frowned. 

Sylvanas felt the claws of her gauntlet dig into her palms. By the Darkness, she wanted to throttle this woman so badly. Why did she insist on talking about matters she had no understanding of?

“I mean, it’s not that weird,” the shopkeeper shrugged. “Darkflare’s like… what, the only living person to actively choose to mingle with the Forsaken? I could see them getting attached to that.”

“I don’t know. This whole marriage just seems fishy to me,” Gar’an shook her head. “If it was a matter of love, why wait to marry Sylvanas until after she was made Warchief?” 

Sylvanas blinked, the question catching her off guard in her state of growing anger. 

“There could be a lot of reasons for that,” the shopkeeper shrugged as she handed out more drinks. “I mean, we don’t know how long those two were courting before any of this happened. The most we have to go on is Darkflare up and kissing her after she escaped the Alliance after the Broken Shore.”

“Yeah, you’re making a lot of assumptions based on very little Gar’an,” the troll beside her remarked. “I think you’re paying too much attention to that warlock who lives next door to you.”

“Yeah, I mean with what I know of Darkflare, she’s more likely to spontaneously combust than betray Windrunner,” the shopkeeper nodded. “It’s not even a possibility, I’m certain she’s physically incapable of even thinking about it.”

Sylvanas quietly considered those words. Loathe as she was to admit it, such a thing being spoken by a complete stranger was quite reassuring. She winced slightly. Why did Sylvanas need reassuring in the first place? Was she truly so uncertain about the state of her own marriage words she overheard from plain gossip was enough to sway her mood either which way? Why?

_‘Because you know that regardless of whether or not she betrays you, that she still deserves better.’_

Dread suddenly coiled in Sylvanas’ stomach. She walked silently away from the pillar she was hidden behind. She needed to get away from these clucking hens. All her reports had stated that Anevay was extremely popular in Orgrimmar. But the moment she set foot in the city all she could hear were people talking down about her. And she was the reason. All of them sneered at her marriage, questioned Anevay’s mental health, questioned whether she had ulterior motives, or just hurled insults about her. Her popularity was conditional, and the people were not above being completely vicious when Anevay wasn’t around.

 _‘Slimey ingrates!’_ Sylvanas scowled to herself. _‘She is the most capable and considerate champion the people could ask for and they dare to let their gratitude be conditional like this? I should have everyone who speaks in such a way doused in Blight!’_

It had been four hours since she’d sent Anevay away to rest, and now she was missing her presence once again. Whenever she was alone, her thoughts would spiral to horrible places. She needed her wife beside her to cut through the doubt. She knew on some level that wasn’t healthy, but right now she didn’t care. But… she couldn’t wake her when she’d been so exhausted.

“Did you hear the Champion married Sylvanas?” one grunt said to his friend.

“Guess it’s true what they say. There is someone out there for everyone,” the other chuckled.

Sylvanas felt the urge to vomit at how indulgently snide that comment was. He wasn’t sure which one of them the grunt insulted with that statement, but she was tempted to have his head either way. That insufferable- Sylvanas clenched her jaw, trying to force the thoughts from her head. No. She had nothing to prove to that oaf. He was just being ignorant. 

Her eyes fell to her hand. Her gauntlets concealed the dry, cracked, dead skin underneath but did nothing for her peace of mind. Her hands were probably in the worst condition, withered and with signs of rot. They were the most telling example of exactly what she was. A dead, rotting _thing_. One that frequently defiled the single most kind person in the Horde.

_‘You don’t deserve Anevay. You never have.’_

“Enough of this,” Sylvanas whispered behind clenched teeth, turning on her heels and heading back to the Hold. There had to be something there that she could occupy her thoughts with. Something away from these insufferable gossips. Since when had there been a place that was rich with this much incessant rumor mongering that wasn’t Silvermoon?


	2. Good Girl

Anevay got out of the hammock another four hours later and happy to see that the sun was going down. A cooler Orgrimmar was an Orgrimmar she didn’t mind being in. She left her armor where it was and pulled her cloak over her shoulders, smiling as she ran her fingers over the soft fabric. Sylvanas had spared no expense in her armor and cloak, and the entire set was worth a small fortune.  “She’s so good to me,” she sighed happily, her thoughts trailing back to the day Sylvanas surprised her with it. She was so overjoyed that she decided there was nowhere on Azeroth she would rather make a home. And to Anevay’s continued delight, Sylvanas allowed her to stay. 

Her heart began to flutter, her thoughts on Sylvanas encouraging her to step out of the Barracks and find her wife. Now that she had some time to rest, she could focus on spending some actual time with her.  She looked out onto the evening sky, a cooler breeze greeting her face as she made her way back to the Hold. She preferred the cold these days. Anything that could temper the Fel that burned in her veins was very much appreciated. And Sylvanas’ touch could temper that flame just fine. 

“High Overlord!” one woman called out, running up to catch her. “Where have you been all day?”

“Barracks. Sleeping,” Anevay smiled. “Warchief’s orders.”

The woman blinked. “Really? In the middle of the day?” 

“Apparently I have overworked myself and she decided to give me some mandatory rack time to even things out,” Anevay explained as she stretched. “She’s a sweetie like that.” 

“...Windrunner? A sweetie?” the woman chuckled. “Pull the other one.”

“No, I’m serious,” Anevay smiled. “She’s very good to me.”

“So… so the rumor going around is true?” she asked, looking bewildered.

“If you’re referring to the rumor about me being her wife, yes.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. “You… you cannot be serious!” she exclaimed incredulously. “I… I was looking all over for you wanting to warn you about the slander people were besmirching your name with and it’s true!?”

“Yeah,” Anevay nodded. “I’m married to Sylvanas. Quite happily too, actually.”

The woman’s brow furrowed deeply. “...How, though?” she asked. “She… Are we sure that we’re talking about the same Windrunner? The one who could peel the flesh from your bones with a look?”

“Yes, we are,” Anevay nodded. “Though in my case that same look makes me want to say ‘step on me, my Queen.’”

The woman convulsed visibly, looking as though Anevay’s words pained her. “Okay! Okay! I believe you. We don’t need… the details!”

Anevay smirked and continued toward the Hold. “I’ll tell my wife you said hi!” she said sweetly.

“O-Okay!” the woman said, smiling nervously as she waved. “Have a good evening!”

Anevay waved as she turned into the Hold and practically broke into a run up the front hall and into the throne room. She smiled brightly when she saw her wife, but that smile fell very quickly once she noticed just how angry and tense she was.  “...My Queen?” she said, approaching her and laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Sylvanas lifted her head to see that, somehow, Anevay had managed to enter the throne room without her realizing it. Was she that lost in thought? That couldn’t be good.  “I… I am fine, Anevay,” Sylvanas said, forced a smile on her lips as she placed a hand on Anevay’s. “Just… annoying paperwork is all. Did you rest well?”

“About as well as I can rest on a hammock without you beside me,” Anevay cooed, pulling Sylvanas into a hug and kissing the top of her head.

Sylvanas exhaled slowly through her nostrils and allowed Anevay to envelop her. She nearly melted with relief. The warmth returned. The security returned. The intrusive thoughts were melting away.

_ ‘You do not deserve her warmth. Her beauty. Her care. You are a malevolent creature. You will never be more than what he made you.  _

Shit.

Anevay ran her fingers through Sylvanas’ hair and sighed contentedly. “Was everything alright while I was asleep?” she asked. “I hope the orcs didn’t give you too much grief.”

“They were… as considerate as can be expected,” Sylvanas said, trying not to let a crack or tremor seep through her voice. “Nothing I am not used to.” 

“Great,” Anevay huffed, leaning down and kissing her wife’s cheek. “Looks like I have some skulls to crack tonight.”

“Do not bother,” Sylvanas whispered, silently hoping the continued affections would drive the thoughts from her mind. “They are not worth your time.” _ ‘I am not worth your time.’ _

“I respectfully disagree, my Queen,” Anevay smiled. She continued showering her wife in affection as her body shook off the lingering sleep.

Sylvanas managed a small huff of laughter as she leaned into Anevay’s touch. Any moment now, the lingering thoughts would vanish. “Later then. Your Warchief needs you here.” 

“That is agreeable,” Anevay giggled as she sat down in Sylvanas’ lap.

Sylvanas smiled. This was good. This was exactly what she needed. More of Anevay’s warmth to bleed into her. To savor the contact that made her feel alive again. Instinctively, she reached up to cup Anevay’s cheek affectionately.  Only to realize that her hand was bereft of it’s usual gauntlets. Dry, cracked skin that was withered down almost to the bone was plainly visible.  She pulled her hand away, cursing herself. How did that happen? When did she take off her gauntlets? When she was writing her correspondence? 

Anevay’s warm and content smile fell somewhat as she felt her wife tense up in her arms. Sylvanas rarely tensed up when she was cuddling her. Usually only when something was weighing on her mind. Something bad.  “Sweetheart?” she mewled. “Are you alright? You’re so tense.”

Sylvanas felt the urge to disengage from the situation entirely. To just disappear in flash of mist and leave Anevay alone. Far away from her and her vile hands. 

“...It is nothing,” she insisted, still unable to meet Anevay’s gaze. “I am just… in a state, I suppose. Nothing you need worry about.”

“Sylvanas, you know that’s just going to make me worry more,” Anevay said, kissing her cheek. “Did somebody say something to you?”

Sylvanas winced, memories of the entire day flooding back to her. “...To me? No,” she shook her head. “No one had the spine to say anything directly to my face.” A flash of crimson burned brightly in her eyes. “...But that doesn’t mean I didn’t hear it.”

Anevay felt her heart sink. She could only imagine what they had said when they thought neither of them could hear, and she knew this was not going to be a good night. “Of course. More gossip and speculation I’m guessing?”

“Indeed,” Sylvanas nodded curtly. “Rumors of mind control, coups, and… less than flattering fetishization.” The Banshee Queen shuddered at the last one, what she heard one lecherous warlock described being enough to make even her skin crawl. “All of them arriving to the same conclusion.” 

“Oh now I’m definitely cracking some skulls,” Anevay growled. She held her wife closer and nuzzled her cheek. “You know all of that is a load of trash, right?”

Sylvanas didn’t answer right away. Her gaze was cast down to the hand that remained firmly atop the arm of her throne. She could not look away from the vile sight despite how much she wanted to. How could Anevay stand to let her touch her?

Anevay lifted her head, her face now etched with worry. “...Sylvanas? Dalah’surfal? Please don’t shut down on me.”

Sylvanas finally snapped back to attention, tearing her gaze away from her own disgusting hand and looking back at Anevay. Her eyes were so full of worry and affection. 

_ ‘Her concern is wasted on you,’  _ the thoughts said cruelly.  _ ‘It was a mistake to accept her proposal. You cursed her to a lifetime of having to suffer your presence. Your touch. You should be ashamed of yourself.’  _ “I am not shutting down,” she said tersely, struggling to keep Anevay’s gaze. “I’m just… lost in thought.” 

Anevay looked taken aback. Sylvanas hadn’t been this snappish with her since… well since the night she tried to hold her to that agreement of a drink. It was so unusual for her. And that only affirmed her believe that something was  _ very  _ wrong.  “What are you thinking about?” She asked.

_ ‘About how deeply I am regretting marrying you. How ashamed of myself that I had ever thought to taint you as I have. That-”  _ “...I don’t know if I should tell you,” Sylvanas admitted, her entire body fraught with tension.

“Please,” Anevay said softly, gently cupping Sylvanas’ cheek and kissing her forehead. “Please tell me. I’m worried about you.”

Sylvanas let out a quiet, almost meek sigh as Anevay continued to shower her with gentle touches and kisses. It wasn’t enough to make the thoughts stop, but it was enough to tear down the walls she tried to erect for herself.  “...With so many people speaking ill of us… of you for ever thinking to marry a dead woman, I…” Something tightened in her throat, her eyes starting to burn. It was more difficult than she thought to force back that surge of emotion. “...I cannot help but wonder… what if they’re right?”

“What do you mean if they’re right? Sylvanas, you’re… you’re not thinking about...” Anevay tensed slightly and her grip on her wife tightened. “...leaving me, are you?”

Sylvanas winced, the pained tone in Anevay’s voice making her chest seize with a growing guilt. _'_ _ Even speaking your mind causes her pain. Don’t you see how terrible you are for her?’  _

“That is not what I said,” Sylvanas assured her, feeling the urge to reach out and comfort her wife, but deciding against. “I only meant that… perhaps they are correct in that I am… unworthy of you. Of your love.” 

Anevay breathed a sigh of relief and kissed Sylvanas’ cheek. “Sylvanas, if you were unworthy of my love, you wouldn’t have it.”

“Then why can I not escape this feeling of dread?” she challenged, her voice low but filled with emotions she dared not to name. “Why can’t I shake the feeling that I am… defiling you?” 

Anevay’s brow furrowed, and she shifted to straddle her wife’s lap. She gently lifted her head to meet her eyes. “Why do you think you’re defiling me?” she asked calmly. “What is it that’s giving you that feeling?”

Sylvanas’s head turned away. Rather than answer her wife with words, she simply lifted a single, withered hand, and presented it to her. “...This.” 

Anevay looked at her hand, the hand that had touched her cheek more times than she could count. The hand that had torn passionate screams out of her more times than she could count. She knew what this was about. Sylvanas still believed herself to be a monstrous creature. A creature that had no business leeching off the life of a living being.

“You mean like this?” she asked, lifting her own hand. The one that had been rendered blackened, withered and dead by Frostmourne’s cut years ago.

Sylvanas frowned. “N-No. Not like that!” she argued. “That is… that is a scar. A cruel reminder of the one who gave it to you. I’m… just a corpse. A… monstrosity.”

“Sylvanas, they were both caused by the same weapon,” Anevay sighed, threading their fingers together.

“But you survived,” Sylvanas urged.

“Barely,” Anevay whispered. “Sylvanas, you were there. I came down from that tower broken, bloody, and barely conscious. I was practically hauled down by Fordring. And I never told anyone this… but for a very brief moment… I saw only darkness.”

Though Sylvanas no longer needed breath, she could feel hers suddenly catching in her throat.  Anevay… died back there? She saw the Endless Dark?  Before she knew it, Sylvanas had thrown her arms around Anevay, holding her as close as she could. Anar’alah. How had she gone this long without knowing that she nearly lost Anevay before she ever came back into her life? Unlife? Existence? Why did she say nothing of the Darkness beyond? How did it not haunt her every waking moment? 

_ ‘Perhaps it did and she just chose not to bother you with it.’  _ “Oh, Anevay,” Sylvanas choked out. “I… I am so sorry. I never wanted you to see that place.” 

“Fate has a habit of making me see the horrible things that happen to you,” Anevay whispered. “Maybe that’s why I never gave up on you. I knew the truth. That you weren’t just some mockery of my friend. You  _ were  _ my friend, and you’d been hurt.”

Sylvanas managed to collect herself somewhat. Enough so that she could pull back and look up at Anevay as she spoke. “But… I am still a corpse,” she whispered. “How can you stomach having me this close?”

“I… I don’t know what kind of answer you want,” Anevay confessed. “I just… don’t find anything about you revolting or unappealing. I never have. When I look at you… you’re the woman who saved my life. Twice. You’re my friend. You’re my wife. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened slightly. In truth, she wasn’t certain what sort of answer she was expecting from Anevay either. Something profound that she somehow hadn’t thought about, perhaps? Some miraculous perspective that would somehow mean that all of this was somehow okay? The answer she received was… remarkably mundane by comparison.  And yet, she couldn’t help but notice that the thoughts were becoming quieter. 

“...Really?” she asked.

Anevay nodded. “Yes. You’re my friend, and you’ve been through hell. I was always worried about you, you know. Even when you didn’t want to speak to me. I don’t think a day went by when I didn’t wonder if you were doing okay.”

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed as her mind raced back to that time. A time before Sylvanas had accepted Anevay back into her existence. When she kept trying and failing to reconnect with her and her fellow Farstriders. With how she always came back, it shouldn’t have surprised her how Anevay had always worried about her. It shouldn’t have, but it did. 

Another memory came to mind, this one prompting a wry smile to spread across her lips.  “...Is that why you sent me that charm bracelet that one year?” she asked. 

Anevay’s eyes widened slightly, and she laughed. “Anar’alah, I’d forgotten about that. They had them out in front of Grommash Hold, the old one. The Goblin said it became a tradition to give charm bracelets to a leader of the Horde. It was no question who I’d send it to. I didn’t think you’d remember that, though.”

“It was the first of three charm bracelets I ever received in the history of the festival,” Sylvanas replied with a smirk. “And yours was the only one with a name on it. How could I not remember it?”

“I just didn’t think the charm bracelets were all that memorable, since the leaders get so man- and now I realize why that was a dumb thought,” Anevay said sheepishly.

Sylvanas laughed a light, airy laugh that only sounded slightly haunting with the dark power behind her voice. Still, Anevay was not perturbed. 

“While I may not have appreciated it at the time, I certainly do now,” Sylvanas said, pressing her dark lips to Anevay’s cheek. “Thank you, Dalah’surfal.” 

Anevay giggled and wrapped her arms around Sylvanas’ shoulders. “You were the first person I thought of. I sure as hell wasn’t going to give one to Lor’themar,” then everything suddenly hit her. “OH! I almost forgot! The goblin thought me and Theron were a couple.”

Sylvanas blinked. “...You’re fucking with me,” she said, her tone positively flummoxed. “...How?” 

“I have no idea,” Anevay scoffed, shaking her head. “When I told him I was gay, he almost looked disappointed. I mean come on. The guy’s missing an eye. Completely unattractive.”

“Oh?” A playful smirk teased at Sylvanas’ lips. “So you’re fine with the fact that I am undead, but if I was missing an eye, you would lose interest?” Despite her earlier anxieties, it surprised her just how easily she was able to say such a thing in jest. She didn’t even feel any lingering thoughts of worry. 

“Actually if you had a scar down your eye, that would be  _ very  _ pretty,” Anevay mused as she traced a line down her wife’s right eye with her finger. “That look would be fierce.”

Sylvanas chuckled at that, leaning forward to place another kiss on her wife. “You flatter me, Dalah’surfal,” she purred. “I suppose I would welcome having a scar that was not  _ his _ for a change.” 

“You can have some of mine,” Anevay chuckled. “I’ve got way too many. Any more and I’ll just look like a burnt leather figurine.”

“Oh hush,” Sylvanas chided, lifting a hand to thread through Anevay’s hair. “Between the two of us, you are the perfect one. I shall suffer none of your self deprecation.” 

Anevay’s cheeks flushed and she leaned into Sylvanas’ hand. By the Sunwell, why did she love it when Sylvanas stroked her hair so much? It just made her want to snuggle close and take a nap right there.

“Each scar you have is a story,” Sylvanas reasoned. “Some of suffering. Others of triumph. We may not be proud of all of our scars, but I would sooner read every story etched into your skin than see them wiped from existence.” 

“I suppose,” Anevay sighed as her eyes fluttered closed. “I guess after the second calamity they stop feeling like they mean anything.”

Sylvanas smiled, coaxing Anevay to lean forward and rest her head against her shoulder. She continued threading her fingers through her wife’s hair as she held her close. This was good. This was soothing. And this time, the intrusive thoughts were finally purged from her mind.  “Thank you, Dalah’surfal,” she whispered. “There are not many who would stick by me during something like this. I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Anevay whispered as she curled up in Sylvanas’ lap. “I’m your wife. And I love you. I’m always going to be here for you. I’ll always be a safe shoulder for you to cry on.”

“As I shall always be yours,” Sylanas cooed. “In this life, and the next.” 

“Thank you,” Anevay smiled, kissing her wife’s neck. “That means more to me than you could ever realize.”

Sylvanas inhaled through her nostrils, her wife’s lips sending a surge of thrill coursing through her. “I very nearly lost you many times already,” she whispered. “I cannot do that again. I cannot lose you.” 

“You’re not going to lose me,” Anevay whispered. “I’m going to be right here no matter what happens.”

Sylvanas sighed and held her tighter, her fingers carting through Anevay’s hair as she settled on her throne. “...Good girl.”

* * *

Anevay had fallen asleep on Sylvanas’ lap an hour ago. IT seemed that she was more overworked that either of them had realized. She didn’t mind, in all honesty. It felt good to cradle her wife while she slept, stroking her hair and listening to every soft breath and mutter the girl made. It was moments like this that reminded her just how adorable she could be.

Alas, the footsteps cut through this lovely moment, and she looked up to see who was entering the Hold and bothering her.  She was met with the sight of jagged, spike adjourned plate mail and a pair of pale yellow eyes peering straight at her.  “...Saurfang,” Sylvanas greeted with a curt nod. 

“Warchief,” Varok greeted in kind, his eyes falling upon Anevay, who remained sleeping in Sylvanas’ lap. “...I wouldn’t consider that a proper use of that throne.” 

“It is my throne, Saurfang,” Sylvanas chided. “If I wish to use it to hold my wife, I will do so.”

“You have perfectly serviceable chambers, do you not?” Varok pressed a perturbed grumble in his voice. 

“Quite hostile,” Sylvanas mused airily. “Have I done something to offend, Overlord?” 

“Darkflare is a fine woman and an even finer warrior,” Varok responded. “I do not see why you insist on humiliating her like this.”

“Humiliating her? Saurfang, you presume too much,” Sylvanas smirked. “My wife is quite the kitten, and she revels in that.” To accentuate that point, she rested her fingers atop Anevay’s head and oh so gently began to scratch her scalp. Anevay, still fast asleep, began to purr contently, tilting her head towards the source of the pleasure.

A displeased frown curled on his tusked lip. “She is your mate, Warchief. Not your pet. You should treat her as such.” 

Sylvanas pursed her lips slightly. “You know, I do not recall you being this hostile towards Anevay and myself before. When she returned from Draenor, you were damn near cordial.” 

“That is when I thought you were simply a respectful and considerate commanding officer to her,” Varok said plainly, still visibly displeased. “I was wrong.” 

“Well, perhaps you should get to know Anevay before you start presuming how I should treat her,” Sylvanas shrugged as she continued to scratch Anevay’s scalp. “She doesn’t seem to be all that bothered, in case your eyes have fallen out of your skull.”

“She’s not even conscious or aware of her situation,” Varok huffed. “Perhaps you should let the High Overlord speak for herself, Warchief.” 

“If you wish to wake my wife up from her much needed rest, I would suggest you do so carefully, Saurfang,” Sylvanas sneered. “After all the work she had put into this city as of late, I doubt it would be a good show of gratitude.” 

Varok, narrowed his eyes, a displeased growl rumbling in his throat, but nothing louder than that. Nothing that would wake her.

“Well? Would you like to wake her, or use that impressive deductive reasoning to think of how she came to be in this position to begin with?” Sylvanas mused, returning to stroking her wife’s hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Varok’s frown turned into a proper snarl. “You should not be so irreverent, Warchief,” he huffed. “I may voice my concerns, but there are others that suspect worse of you. They say that you have bewitched her into being your bride. That you keep her solely so you can feed on her Fel energies.”

“Good for the public. I care nothing for the lies they tell themselves to avoid the reality that the Banshee Queen is capable of more than merely rage,” Sylvanas huffed. “If Anevay’s word isn’t enough to convince them, then that only shows how determined they are to avoid the truth.”

Varok quirked a brow, an almost curious look on his face. “...You mean to say that you truly care for this woman?” he asked.

“Well done, Varok. You’ve finally managed to add two and two. Very good. What a smart orc you are,” Sylvanas sneered.

The annoyed grumble returned to his throat. “Well, then,” he said stiffly. “Perhaps when you’ve actually earned the trust of the people, they may believe such a thing themselves.” 

“I do not need their trust, or for them to believe me,” Sylvanas said dismissively as she wrapped her free arm around Anevay and held her close. “I have everything I need right here.”

“A Warchief always needs the trust of the people,” Varok countered. “Lest you already have forgotten what happened to Hellscream.”

“I have not,” Sylvanas said. “And I have the trust of the woman who ended his reign. That is all I need.”

Varok did not say anything to that right away. Instead, he turned and proceeded to make his way out the door he entered. “Very well then.  _ Sleep well, _ Warchief,” he growled, not sounding the least bit satisfied or unperturbed.

As Saurfang stomped out of the hold, Sylvanas turned her attention back to her wife, sleeping soundly on her shoulder. As she stroked her hair, Sylvanas came to the realization that the voices hadn’t started up again. She could hear no doubts or pessimistic doomsaying. Her mind was quiet.  She’d been subjected to the scrutiny of others, and hadn’t second-guessed herself.  Though she was painfully aware that Anevay’s presence had contributed a great deal to her newfound tranquility, she couldn’t deny that this was quite a step for her. She was content.

And that filled her with… hope.


End file.
